


Stars

by Jo Robbins (plenilune)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: rt_challenge, Experimental, F/M, Ficlet, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-09
Updated: 2007-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plenilune/pseuds/Jo%20Robbins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't even remember why he is sleeping in an alleyway, only that it seems terribly incongruous with the way things ought to be and even though he has slept in a lot of horrible flats over the years though somehow he can't quite remember why. Half-delirious, Remus dreams. HBP-era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars

  And oh it is so dark.

   He is sleeping in an alleyway – or trying to sleep; he is so exhausted that he cannot seem to shut his eyes – and all of his bones ache and oh it is so dark and so grey and so cold and perhaps he is becoming a cold dark grey thing of no consequence that someone is going to stumble over and forget and perhaps when that time comes he will not even notice because oh it is so dark and inside of his mind there is a great fog and perhaps he likes it better that way.

   He can’t even remember why he is sleeping in an alleyway, only that it seems terribly incongruous with the way things ought to be and even though he has slept in a lot of horrible flats over the years though somehow he can’t quite remember why.

   Later he supposes he must be slipping into delirium because he is seeing thing that aren’t there and slipping through colours and patterns and there seem to be a lot of versions of himself and a lot of things he thinks happened a long time ago, or possibly never happened at all. He is standing by the ocean and something about the rhythm of the waves is calming some horror inside of him; he is opening a newspaper and there is something horrible in its flapping pages and he breaks a teacup; he is in a doorway and there is a face very close to his own and small lovely hands smoothing his hair and something fills him with a deep and unaccountable sadness.

   _Dora_.

   The stars glint above him, chinks of light pressing through that great blackness which is sky and he dreams – and he dreams – and once there was a night blooming with stars and they sat in the grass which was wet with summer rain and watched the stars circle their unending dances over the earth (he said really it’s the earth that turns and she said yes, yes I know, but it’s so much nicer to think of them dancing, isn’t it?) and when she was so close to him she fit into him like a piece of the same whole. He thinks that it must have been another time and in some place he cannot get to but if only he knew which way to reach if only he knew which way to reach if only he knew –

   If only he knew which way to reach the stars would turn over and over and there would be that day back again and Dora in the moonlight and he cannot even remember why she isn’t here and why he is but he knows she isn’t dead (if anyone is dead he must be) but he watches the eyes of stars and thinks of how her arms would go round him and oh how dark and cold it is and he only wants to be warm oh how dark how dark and cold.

   He sleeps, and dreams of her with long pale hair and eyes dark as sky.


End file.
